


for your eyes only

by chii



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bromance, F/M, Other, not fixit fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You're going to regret watching this," Natasha warns, and Clint doesn't bother arguing that.  [ Character death, spoilers for movie. Set post-movie. ]</p>
            </blockquote>





	for your eyes only

**Author's Note:**

> For all that Bruce is my baby, none of the fics I post are with him. :| UHH THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A KINK MEME FILL where Clint and Natasha watched a movie and had lots of sex of some sort but instead ended up SHIELD AND SECRETS and heartcrushing bromance. You can read this as Clint/Coulson if you like, or Clint/Tasha, it's kinda ambiguous. 
> 
> It's also written in like 20 minutes and not read-over by anyone but yours truly so hold onto your pants.

No one gives him a straight answer as to the how, or the when, or anything else; he keeps being told it's on a need to know basis and goddamnit, he _needs to know._ Fury just takes him off active duty instead of giving a straight answer, and tells him to report for his evals, and he's not even about to attempt Hill, knowing that'll go as well as slamming his hand into a door.

Clint settles for Tony and ignores the look he gets for it. The man spends half of his time drinking alcohol like water, he doesn't get to have an opinion on handlers and SHIELD process. Clint plugs the little device he's provided into a wall and sifting through SHIELD's files, coming up with a list of the dead ( _Jesus Christ how many of those were my--_ ), of damages, of causalities, and – 

“The Director said you had evals to attend.”

He almost jumps, but he doesn't; he's not sure if he's too tired to, or because he expected her to show up, eventually.

“The Director isn't giving me a straight answer.” 

Two cool hands settle on his shoulders and it takes everything in him not to spin, to verify who it is with his own eyes, because they've always been better than his ears and they're a hell of a lot more trustworthy than his memories at this point. It's Natasha, though; there's no reason to doubt it. If it wasn't, he'd have been dead already. 

“You told me you weren't a masochist,” Natasha says quietly and leans up against him, invading his space effortlessly, knowing he's not about to push her away, not when he's this engrossed in getting in, getting the data, and getting out. 

Clint just grunts at that, minutely relaxing back into her, letting her rest there against him, pleased she's not trying to stop him. Maybe she wants to know the how just as much as he does; she wasn't told what happened, either, just that he was down. Every medical report was filed and deleted, past their clearance. “That wasn't in reference to things we ought to be told,” Clint says quietly, like it matters. No, he's not a masochist, not in the way the question was originally asked, but here-- well, he may as well be, looking at the list of damages and dead and wounded and feeling it settle in his stomach like a weight. Something else to carry, regardless of whether or not he wants to. 

They come up on the files-- security cameras, and Clint slips aside to let Natasha key in the number of the deck, and whatever other information is needed that he wouldn't know. He's still fighting through the haze that Loki's magic caused; his memories aren't exactly the best right now, and he knows it. Natasha presses enter, and the list of videos comes up. 

█TIMESTAMP: 0▌-0▌-20███MARKED FOR DELETION██████SECCAM-128-C DECK█████████████

“That one.” 

He barely glances at the time stamp, just selects it and dumps the data onto the drive, pulling it out and tucking both away into his pocket. “Are you coming?” 

Both of them have been working so long together that he doesn't need to elaborate; he just looks at her, quiet and tired and worn, and three words is all she needs to know what he means. Natasha starts off first, walking down the hall and enters his room with the keycode punched in, holding the door for him. 

Somehow it feels ridiculous, doing this. They'd have movie nights every so often, sometimes together, sometimes with Coulson, usually in hotel rooms with cheap drinks and scratchy sheets and stacks of reports, something for white noise in the background while they worked. Now, they're one man short, and the video isn't exactly something Clint ever wants to see again. 

Natasha hooks up the monitor on his desk, and settles into his chair, letting him drag one over from across the room as she gets the tapes started, Clint's presence a quiet and uncomfortable weight at her back. 

“Play.” 

“You're going to regret watching this.” 

Natasha turns, catching his hand before he can reach around and hit it for himself, twisting it back and leaning in, green eyes narrow. “Are you listening to me? You'll regret it, just as much as I will. It's going to make evals that much harder.” 

He knows that much, at least. Seeing Phil die isn't exactly something he's ever, ever dreamed he'd see or even need to see, but that doesn't mean that it's not important right now. There's nothing the Director won't do, and they both know that; it's why Natasha is here and letting him do this, it's why she's making sure that he knows what the hell he's doing before he does it. She's always had his back. She'll understand why he needs to see it, why he needs to verify it with his own eyes, because they buried an empty casket for all they know, and while it's SHEILD standard procedure that doesn’t mean he trusts it as far as he can throw it. 

“Hit play, Tasha,” Clint says quietly. 

She's right; she always is.

He wishes he hadn't watched.


End file.
